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The thought pulled him up short, and he frowned.
He needed to dial back this shit. And yet… The look in Morgan’s eyes stirred something inside him. Something hot and fierce. It felt like his skin was pulled too tight, leaving him agitated and ramped up.
He took a few extra seconds, running his hands over his face and rolling his shoulders. “Get it together,” he muttered, surprised at the heat in his gut. What the hell? This was Morgan. Aside from the fact she worked for him, he wasn’t even sure she liked him all that much.
He needed to get laid. End of story.
As soon as Easter was over and his mother was gone, he’d look after that problem. He might have to take off for a few days and hook up with one of his go-to girls, but hell, a few days of lost work would be worth it. It had been a long, dry stretch, and it was time he ended the drought.
Decision made, Cooper exhaled and headed down the stairs.
As he approached the kitchen, he slowed and then stopped just in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene before him. The radio was on, and Morgan was scrubbing potatoes at the sink, humming softly to herself, while the dog sat at her feet, tail wagging madly. Stanley’s head was cocked to the side as if listening intently to Morgan while he waited patiently for something. Morgan finished the potato in her hand and then reached for something on the counter—a biscuit by the looks of it.
She tossed it in Stanley’s waiting mouth and smiled at the dog. Cooper couldn’t drag his eyes from her. The smile transformed her entire face into something soft. Long tendrils of hair had come loose from her ponytail. They curled around her collarbone, and he followed them down, realizing for the first time he’d never seen her in anything other than a large sweatshirt or a cardigan or that god-awful green sweater she’d worn the first day at the church social. Hell, even the top she’d worn on St. Patrick’s Day had pretty much covered her up.
Right now, a plain white T-shirt clung to curves that, in Cooper’s opinion, should never be covered up. Yoga pants (every man on the planet should say a prayer to the god of yoga pants) cupped a sweetly curved ass, and showed off toned, athletic legs.
That ball of heat in his gut intensified as she bent over and murmured something to Stanley. Cooper should have announced his arrival at that point, but considering she’d caught him naked, he figured they were even.
Besides, he was enjoying this soft, open, and happy side of Morgan.
She washed her hands at the sink and turned the other way to grab another potato, when Cooper’s gaze narrowed and everything in him stilled. The skin on her right arm was puckered and horribly scarred. From what he could see, it started from just above her elbow and, crawling upward, disappeared beneath her T-shirt and reappeared at the crook of her neck.
It was unexpected, and Cooper was still looking at the scars when she straightened and glanced up at him. Shit.
Her smile slowly faded, as did the softness in her face, while her gaze moved to the island. He spied her sweater hanging over the side of one of the tall stools.
Stanley barked, and she jumped, moving a few feet back while Cooper walked into the kitchen. She scooped up her sweater, which he pretended not to notice, and then he walked over to the sink.
“I was thinking scalloped potatoes.” He kept his voice light, hating the darkness that shadowed her face. “What do you think?”
“It’s your dinner so…whatever you need help with.”
The light was definitely gone. She looked so small and defeated standing there in a sweater that was zipped up to her chin. That ball of heat in his gut melted. It turned into something else entirely. And, truth be told, Cooper wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but one thing he did know.
He was going to make it his mission to get this woman to smile through the shadows that haunted her.
“Scalloped potatoes it is.” He crossed over to the pantry and pulled out cream of mushroom soup, salt and pepper, and dried onions. Then, from the fridge, he grabbed butter, parmesan cheese, as well as cheddar. While Morgan cut the potatoes she’d cleaned into thin slices, he got busy shredding cheddar.
Together, they layered the ingredients in a large pan, several times over, and then he scooped the soup on top of it all. The oven was set for 350, and twenty minutes later, he shoved his creation inside.
Next he pulled tilapia from the fridge and tossed several ingredients together to make his world-famous marinade, while Morgan cut up the vegetables for a garden salad.
They worked together, not really talking but listening to the radio, and by the time his fish was ready for the barbecue, the tension was gone and those soft lines he was growing quite fond of had returned to her face.
And of course Stanley was still being a pain in the ass—Cooper had nearly fallen on his ass at least three times. It was that or step on the damn dog’s tail.
“You keep tossing that stuff at him, and that dog will never stop growing.” He winked at Morgan. “And I’m not talking height. I’m talking width.”
She shrugged, a soft smile curving her mouth. “I can’t help it. He’s just so darn cute.”
Cooper snorted. Saliva pooled in the corner of the dog’s mouth. “I guess your definition of cute is a hell of a lot different from mine.”
“Really.” Her eyebrows shot up. “And what exactly is it that you find cute?”
They stood together at the counter. He was close to Morgan. So close that if he wanted to, he could reach over and tuck that one piece of hair that curled around her chin back behind her delicate ear.
Her eyes widened a bit, and her lips parted. Was it just him? Or did she make a soft sort of sound, one that slipped from between her lips like a whisper?
